


Symbiosis

by squidmemesinc



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Face-Sitting, Foolishness, Guns, Mild Gore, Mildly Dubious Consent, Narcissism, Other, Overlord just wants to break things and have a good time, Overlord's oral fixation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Spark Sexual Interfacing, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Tarn is really full of himself, Violent Sex, gratuitous use of that thing Tarn doing that thing with his voice, this is supposed to be before garrus 9 btw, you know the thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-25
Updated: 2017-04-25
Packaged: 2018-10-23 17:53:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10724289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/squidmemesinc/pseuds/squidmemesinc
Summary: Tarn would love to destroy Overlord, and the feeling is mutual, but that's probably why this relationship works.





	Symbiosis

**Author's Note:**

> I feel like I haven't seriously committed to writing anything since like. July of last year. Hello, I'm robots now. This was inevitable. Still, I'm an amateur at robots, so my grip on canon is weak and babyish. Sorry if I got anything too wrong. I tried to avoid that by just making this as fucky as possible.
> 
> I'm unsure if this is **dubcon** , but there are some elements where perhaps consent is lacking, so be warned, I think! Also there's definitely a bit of **gore**. Also not sure how mild it is or is not.

Overlord is an obnoxious, overpowered, overzealous, unscrupulous sadist. His actions lack any kind of logical reasoning beyond an apparent manic obsession with destruction for destruction’s sake. On top of this, he is annoyingly pompous and thinks himself very clever whenever he manages a simple trick like feigning mercy and then pulling out a surprise act of fatal violence, as if absolutely everyone hasn’t heard that this is his M.O. and should be awed by his omnipotence. The intrigue he brings to the table along with this great capacity for violence is next to none, rendering his actions useless in the eyes of those who have worked to build a sophisticated reputation for creative and beautiful execution.

 _And_ , he’s a biter.

So with Overlord’s teeth firmly squeezing down on a handful of cables in Tarn’s neck, that likely makes Tarn…

Someone with very poor taste in interfacing partners.

Tarn isn’t sure if Overlord has somehow fooled himself into thinking this is sexy or if he really, genuinely is intent on _eating_ Tarn, but he’s over and done with Overlord’s tiresome oral fixation either way. He doesn’t know why he bothers to ever do this since they always seem to end up lost some wasteful number of minutes in senseless… Can this be called ‘foreplay?’ Embarrassing.

“Overlord,” he hisses quietly, and with an intentional but thankfully not literal bite of his own that should go directly to the spark, but Overlord does not react beyond shuddering with sadomasochistic pleasure. His teeth release with a pop and he licks up the drops of energon that spill out of Tarn’s fuel lines, scraping his lower fangs along them purposefully and drawing out the activity that Tarn longs to move past.

Tarn narrows his optics at this continued foolishness and allows his irritation get the best of him, as tends to be the general progression of their encounters. He turns his thumb at the panel on the side of Overlord’s midsection he’s been gripping and jams it under the tight seam, bending it open in a flash, and thrusts his hand inside the mess of cables that is Overlord’s insides. He squeezes a fuel line viciously until it bursts in his hand, and this does get the other mech’s attention.

Overlord breaks off with Tarn’s energon smeared on his stupidly plush lips and slips his hand down over Tarn’s backstruts and his aft, coming to a rest at Tarn’s interface panel. Tarn lets out half a vent in relief which is interrupted when Overlord returns his favor to him and shoves his fingers under the seam, snapping off the panel in a swift, deft movement and thrusting two fingers inside Tarn’s valve.

“I didn’t realize you were so impatient,” Overlord lies into Tarn’s audials, his fingers scraping against the the oozing trails of lubricant lining Tarn’s valve. “You always act so _bored_ , but you sure feel like you’re having fun.” There’s no intent to pleasure in Overlord’s movements, which are purposefully clumsy and repetitive because he wants to set an itch under Tarn’s plating, but it makes little difference with the girth of his massive fingers, and the rough tease is an underrepresentation of what’s to come. At least they’re finally getting somewhere. No thanks to Overlord.

“Perhaps I was thinking of someone else,” Tarn says evenly as he grinds his aft down into his hand, working him deeper in. He smiles gently behind his mask and refrains from tacking on that yes, he was bored, feeling it’s obvious enough that the admission would detract from the humor, even though it's true. He doesn’t pay Overlord the complement of admitting that the real beginnings of his arousal started when he was able to break a small piece of the other mech, as inconsequential as it may have been.

Overlord shoves two more fingers into him, already stretching his valve wider than it might normally prefer to go. Well, if he were a reasonable kind of mech who didn’t enjoy a sharper edge to his fragging. One of the few, unfortunate reasons that’s led him to accepting Overlord’s oafish advances. Tarn vents and thrusts his hips back again, and Overlord’s hand rises up against him, pushing deeper so that the lining of his valve stretches raw. He’s not quite wet enough yet for this to be smooth, but the burn itself is getting him there. His fans kick off at the lowest setting.

“I get the sense that you’re trying to make me angry, Tarn,” Overlord muses, thrusting his fingers in deeper despite Tarn’s valve struggling to accommodate the stretch of his massive hand. He nuzzles his face against Tarn’s shoulder in a manner that would be inappropriately intimate if it weren’t so obviously meant to be condescending. Tarn lets his field prickle against Overlord, who pushes back with force that would overwhelm any other bot, but it just makes Tarn scowl beneath his mask. “You don’t need to prove yourself. You’re already my favorite toy because you’re the only one who doesn’t _break_ when I frag you.” Tarn can feel him angling to get his thumb into him as well, and he might be tempted to let him if he wasn’t already irked by Overlord’s mundanely slow pace and now _this_.

Tarn shoves himself off the wall, thrusting his back against Overlord’s chest and wheeling out his elbow to clock him on the side of the head. Overlord may not have been expecting it, but is still massive enough to not have been jostled much, though they do now stand a few feet apart. Tarn turns around, narrowly avoiding Overlord attempting to grab him by shooting him at near point blank range. The aim was not to kill, of course, and they both know a blast from a fusion cannon to Overlord’s already leaking midsection will do little more than...well, hurt, yes, sure, but more importantly, it blasts him back with enough force to knock him halfway onto the berth they’ve been ignoring for this whole encounter. Tarn himself manages to pin Overlord fully against it, thrusting his hand yet again into Overlord’s internal mechanisms, this time at the shoulder, and ripping through half the joints in it, including more fuel lines and the hydraulic systems that allow him to _move_. He grips Overlord’s other arm at the elbow, with his fingers digging in, threatening to disable him further, and breathes in the sweet acrid fumes of Overlord’s burning frame.

This all seems to do little more than tickle Overlord, and deep in his spark, Tarn knows that he doesn’t fight back with his full power because he enjoys what Tarn can do to him when he only holds back a little, and of course his lecherous fondness for Tarn’s particular special talent. Though Tarn is aware that Overlord does still underestimate him, he is also not under any false impressions. Overlord could almost certainly destroy him in a one-on-one fight at full strength, barring some particularly strong kind of luck, which Tarn has no desire to rely upon. Despite the fact that it gives Overlord great pleasure to think he’s _allowing_ Tarn to make it out as unscathed as he does through his own generosity, Tarn does allow him to think him weaker than he is because of the satisfaction it will bring him when he one day destroys him and has to ask Overlord to please try a little harder not to die.

Overlord is wholly aware of Tarn’s potent eye for bloodlust trained particularly on him. He knows Tarn would love to snuff out his spark and grind his frame down to ore and mix it into some of that fancy engex he’s so fond of, but he also knows that he won’t. Not yet. Because as much as Tarn finds Overlord despicable, reprehensible, _annoying,_ he must hold to his code, because that’s what makes him better than Overlord. But as soon as he slips out of Megatron’s favor, which Tarn is absolutely certain that he will, Tarn will take a special kind of delight in the spark-reaffirming, religious experience of breaking him down into his very molecules in a manner far more excruciating than simply ripping through his arm and busting a few fuel lines. Tarn is saving many of his more creative ideas for Overlord.

Until then, they frag.

Overlord’s spike has likely been out and fully pressurized this whole time (shameless fool that he is) and Tarn slides his frame over it and presses down against it so it spreads the soft lips of his valve, rubbing his anterior node against it slowly. Overlord smiles up at him, pleased to have gotten under his plating, but Tarn allows this too. The fun is finally starting. “I...am not...your _toy_ ,” he says very, very calmly and very, very softly, carving each word long and slow and deep into Overlord’s spark so that his hips writhe up against the tease of Tarn’s warm, wet folds.

Overlord groans with unrestrained pleasure, genuinely enjoying everything that’s happening. “You sure are fun to play with, though,” he says, sliding right into the most predictable of responses.

Tarn hums, first intending it to be pensive, then noticing Overlord twitch again, draws it out into a soft little musical tune, almost a laugh. He pulls his hips up off Overlord’s spike, then centers himself right over it and slams himself down.

He’d intended to say something else, but the moment is lost with the novelty of the first few thrusts. On each one he gets Overlord’s massive spike hitting against his already aching ceiling node, his whole valve stretched wide and taut around it, and somehow managing to still ooze lubricant into nonexistent spaces between their equipment. Tarn is leaking out and aching with pleasure, not even looking at Overlord, but using him now as _his_ own toy, which he is mature enough not to announce, unlike some people.

Looking away turns out to be a mistake, but not one he might not have anticipated. Leaning back just slightly eases up the pressure Tarn had been putting on the mess of wrecked, disconnected cables in Overlord’s shoulder joint, which seem to have no effect on his mobility despite the amount of effort it must be taking to operate it without added power of the hydraulics system and the fact that it’s barely attached to the rest of his frame. Overlord grabs Tarn by the throat and maneuvers out from under him, instead slamming him down on top of his arm and bending the other back so it’s on the berth at a very inflexible angle. Tarn hears some of the connections in his own shoulder and elbow joints snap, inconsequentially, and dismisses the warnings on his HUD that pop up with disinterest, as Overlord driving back in between his splayed legs is much more worthy of his attention.

Warm air catches in his stuttering vents at this angle, which makes his valve squeeze down on Overlord’s thick, merciless spike. The space is impossibly tight, but Overlord’s pistons crank at a smooth and easy pace to slam into him past the restrictions of mesh and metal. And he still has a free hand.

“I don’t normally give compliments lightly, as I’m sure you must know,” Overlord schmoozes, “but you have such a lovely voice. I find myself wanting to hear it better.” The fingers on his ruined arm trail against the plate hiding Tarn’s face and his spark thrums with a rare twinge of—is this anxiety? No, he is mistaken. Tarn is not afraid for Overlord to see his face, but rather his anger flames at his presumption that he should be allowed to. He twitches his head away from Overlord’s fingertips before he can register the reaction as clear, desperate sign of avoidance, and he can instantly feel in the potent excited surge of Overlord’s field washing over him, oppressive, thick, and suffocating. Now that he’s found something Tarn doesn’t want him to have, of course he’s going to take it.

Tarn finds that due to the position of his arms under himself and Overlord’s considerable weight, he genuinely can’t move, and frustration boils within him. He’s extremely aware when Overlord closes his warm hand around the bottom portion of Tarn’s mask, thumb running along the edge of the latch that might slide out of it, but he goes quiet somewhat unintentionally, spinning up his processors trying to think of a way to allow this to happen without giving Overlord any satisfaction from it, but his systems are foggy and slow from Overlord repeatedly thrusting into his stuffed valve, pushing and pulling excessive amounts of lubricant that leak onto the table around Tarn’s thighs. His systems are a mess and he fails to come up with an adequate solution before Overlord makes his move.

“Don’t be nervous, Tarn,” Overlord says in a voice whose gentility matches his own frequently employed cadence. It’s deafening, or perhaps that’s just the indignation rising up through Tarn’s entire body. “I know how shy you are. If you don’t want me to take the mask off, I won’t.” His fingers crunch closed, forcing bits of metal to dig into Tarn’s cheeks as they shatter around the mouth. Overlord loosens his hand and lets the pieces fall away, brushing the smaller shards off Tarn’s lips. He seethes, but forces his face to remain as it was—fixed open in a soft gasp as Overlord tries to frag him straight through this berth. “Well, we can compromise,” Overlord adds in a soft tone of wonderment, though not without its smugness.

“Overlord—” Tarn warns with a particular potent blade in his tone. For how warm he is, his face feels cold. Overlord is too gleeful, seeing his lips move to form the word, to even pretend to react to the pain, though a bit of energon immediately dribbles from his lip between his grinning teeth.

“Ah yes, there it is! That voice! I swear I just saw it!” he chants, digging those rough, thick fingers straight into Tarn’s mouth, shoving down into his throat. They stroke at his tongue, trying to claw deeper into him, and amidst the horror of this impudent violation, it occurs to Tarn to once again be weary of Overlord’s oral fixation.

Fine. If Overlord wants to hear Tarn’s voice, he can. Tarn will drown him in it. He’ll scrape Overlord’s soul so raw it can just barely recover. He moans, softly, pouring a saccharine deadly energy into it and pushing out with his field so he can feel Overlord shudder when it rocks him. Overlord’s fingers twitch in his mouth, seeming to recoil as if they know better than their master what the best course of action is. Tarn doesn’t even bother to grin around them, but leans into it, making another gentle, sickening, hardly audible sound. He plays his tongue around the thick digits in his mouth and groans.

Overlord’s hips stutter against his aching valve for just a moment. He spits a wet mouthful of energon off the side of the berth before he recovers, jamming himself further into Tarn from two points. He shifts his weight down on Tarn’s already awkwardly pinned arm for an extra effect. Tarn barely notices and decidedly does not care, not with the impending onslaught of his overload. He squeezes his cramped valve even tighter around Overlord’s spike, feeling every node inside him light up in a burning protest. He moans again, this time letting through some genuine pleasure.

This must only cut deeper, because a thick stream of energon splatters on Tarn’s midsection from Overlord’s open mouth and Tarn can feel an excess of additional slickness inside him from Overlord spilling his fluids in overload. His thumb digs roughly into Tarn’s cheek as if to rip through it, fingers arching against his tongue and filling his mouth, blocking any vents of air Tarn might hope to expel or intake. His fans spin wildly, desperately, and Overlord pulls out of him while he still burns raw for release.

Overlord lifts himself entirely off of Tarn and scoots him aside on the berth so he can slam himself down on it. He closes his optics.

Tarn shakes. His valve twitches and weeps for the loss of that last bit pressure and friction. Overlord has pulled far too many stunts today and this will be the last of them. He heaves himself onto Overlord’s chest with a knee on either side of his head and plants the edge of a fusion cannon directly over his spark. “We are not finished here.”

Overlord winks open an optic and tugs Tarn’s hips forward, making a point to breathe in the heady scent of the both of them, and says, “I know that.” There’s a soft whir as the plates on his chest slide apart and Tarn feels unexpected, impossible spark energy flowing up his entire arm. Overlord tugs his hips down and thrusts his tongue against the sticky wall of his valve.

Tarn shakes again.

He won’t let Overlord have this. This is a blatant bypassing of their unspoken agreement. Overlord is tempting fate, flying in the face of whatever foolish god seems fit to protect him from each and every demise he surely deserves at the hands of Tarn. He’s calling Tarn’s bluff and he should not expect to get away with it this time. Tarn reaches up and tugs the remaining portion of his mask off throwing it against the wall with enough force that it sticks and the reverberations ring through the room amidst the sounds of Overlord lapping at him.

Overlord’s bare, vulnerable spark energy warms the back of him, spreading outward and trying to draw him in. Tarn brings his arm away and detaches his cannons, dropping them on the narrow unused portion of the berth with another clang. He reaches behind him into Overlord’s foolishly exposed spark chamber and lets his hand sink into the raw energy.

It’s very nearly repulsive to touch, giving Tarn the sense of something sludgy and congealed, yet simultaneously rough and raw, and expresses each horror—conceivable and not—that any creature on any plane might ever be exposed to.

Tarn is struck with the briefest regard of respect for the sense he gets of Overlord’s creativity. He must have misjudged him, somehow. But there’s no need to admit that.

The feel of teeth squeezing against his anterior node brings him back to his healthy locale of derision. He smacks the side of Overlord’s head and grinds down on his face to dislodge himself, and to also takes the opportunity to smear his still dripping valve over Overlord’s preposterous lips, which is an inappropriately sensual experience but one he will allow himself to indulge in nonetheless. He leans back and thrusts his fist deeper into Overlord’s spark chamber, wrapping his fingers around what essence he can and feeling a bit...excited.

Tarn chooses his words carefully, crafts his tone in the same manner so that the edges are raw and sharp, the cuts left by them unclean, but the sound pleasant to hear. “You’re a fool, Overlord,” Tarn whispers with a smile, playing among the leaping strands of energy that snap up and circle his fingers. “You think you can taunt me now, but with this particular mistake—one in a string of many—I’m certain of what we both know. One day, you will make your fall from Megatron’s graces. And then you’ll become my prey.” He feels the stressed threads fray and die between his fingers, and that experience in itself is almost the most potent sexual gratification he’s ever experienced, not even tainted by the fact that they almost seem eager to meet their demise, as if Overlord views even this as a part of himself that’s expendable, invulnerable. Tarn shudders in pleasure, past the point of caring if Overlord notices as long as he can draw out this sensation further. “I’ll be there. I hope you know I will. I’ll wait as long as it takes, but I won’t let you escape. The moment will be perfect. I’ve made so many plans, but every day is a new opportunity for fresh ideas. I’ll make your death last a millenia. And do you know? I think you’ll appreciate the death I have planned for you. It’ll be magnificent. My magnum opus.” Fraying, tortured edges of Overlord’s wretched spark pop and break between Tarn’s fingertips. He twirls at them, feeling them splinter and fade like raw old string turning to dust. “I am going to so enjoy hurting you,” Tarn whispers.

He grunts softly with his whole fist squeezing around Overlord’s throbbing spark, feels it struggle against him as Overlord’s tongue pushes ravenously into him. Tarn tenses and contracts and throbs, riding Overlord’s tongue and his very spark to the brink of what he’s fairly certain is the most impactful overload he’s ever experienced.

Tarn is still being hit by waves of aftershocks when Overlord rips his hand from the warmth of his spark and throws him down onto the berth again. He leans in close to Tarn’s face, locking his gaze in. Tarn notices the first time someone’s looked directly into his optics in an age, but he doesn’t shirk away from it, and actually feels quite alive with energy.

“It’s a date,” Overlord says. He seals his mouth over Tarn’s lips in a kiss wet with a slurry of energon, lubricant, transfluid and Primus knows what else for a brief second before he stalks out of the room, letting the door shut with a soft hiss.


End file.
